


Scrapbook

by androidkisser



Category: NieR: Automata (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cinnamon Roll, Cute, Established Relationship, Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 01:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11840727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androidkisser/pseuds/androidkisser
Summary: Cute girl does cute things with you.





	Scrapbook

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent wife kissing.  
> I made sure it's gender neutral to self insert if you wanna, and the reader doesn't really do anything crazy that you'd find it tough to align yourself with or think "BUT I WOULDN'T SAY THAT THO?"
> 
> I hope you enjoy, because I'm writing more of it, whether you do or not.

The girl happily gestures at you; she's got the tickets in her little hand at last, and she waves them rather frantically in your direction. A little exhale escapes your lips, that're curled into a soft smile, as you make sure the picnic basket is closed securely before locking up the car. Inwardly, you thank the one who put it together for the both of you again, though you're more than sure she didn't mind – in fact, she almost seemed eager to prepare it.

“Come _on!_ ” she whines at you, playfully. A light breeze passes across the parking lot; her blonde bangs play across her forehead gently, and her braids sway back and forth. There's a huge smile on her face and in her eyes, as she skips over to you and links your arm with hers. “There's so much to see, we can't take too long with this sort of stuff, okay?!”

You roll your eyes – it's only ten in the morning, and the reserve only opened a half hour ago, but you don't want to keep her waiting any longer. She's carrying two books in a satchel crossed over her chest – one a reference book on various species of flora and fauna, the other a sketchbook – and there's a camera dangling from a strap around her neck.

“I don't just want pictures, silly,” she had told you on the ride there. “I can draw stuff from the books all I want, but that's different to _seeing_ it in front of me, you know?”

She excitedly hands the tickets over to the receptionist to punch and tear, then stows the stubs in her bag – they'd no doubt find their way into the scrapbook the day after, along with everything else.

She really does look a picture herself, today – a white, loose-fitting T-shirt embellished with strawberries, with almost-too-short-but-not-quite denim shorts and a pair of open-toe sandals that show off her painted nails. You hastily remind yourself to get a picture or five of her later.

The pace she sets for you is a little hurried, but you know that it'll only be until you get onto the trail proper. There's a river rushing alongside the path, a few metres away from you; the sound is more than a little relaxing. As you peek over the wooden fence that stops small children wandering over to the riverbank, your eyes catch flashes of white among the grey, as the water flows over and around a ledge of rocks.

Excitedly, she lets go of your arm to reach for her camera, and takes a few shots of the trees around her – you aren't sure what flavour of tree they are, but they look positively _ancient._ She makes sure to take a picture from every angle conceivable, until you're almost sure she's going to fill her memory card up in the first ten minutes.

“That's an oak,” she explains, in hushed tones. Clearly, your lack of knowledge and gentle confusion is evident. “That one's there's a birch, and that one's an oak too...”

She continues pointing out the differences in the trees for you, even going so far as to pick up some of the dried leaves from the ground to show you the variations in shape. You smile at her as she talks and talks, eager to share her love for what surrounds you both.

Satisfied, she threads her fingers between yours, and you move onwards, following the path and the river. You hear gentle squeaks coming from her when she spots an animal, and sometimes the odd disappointed groan when she isn't quick enough to take a picture. She's taking in every sight, sound and smell as you walk further down the trail carved into the woods; you're almost positive you've never seen her so entranced by the world.

“ _Shh,_ ” she says, suddenly – pointing with a lone finger into the undergrowth as she reaches for her camera with her other hand. It takes you a little while to spot it among the greys, browns and occasional greens, but eventually your eyes fall to a tiny red squirrel. It disappears in an instant when the loud _click_ of the shutter goes off, but she seems at least somewhat satisfied. “I would've liked a few more, but one's good enough! It's a really good one, see?”

You lean over her shoulder to look at the screen on her camera, and she really wasn't kidding – she had managed to take the shot right as it looked almost directly at her. You aren't sure if it was down to luck or her incredible reactions, but you _are_ sure she's missing her calling in life as a photographer.

She'd been working at a military base, somewhere South – or was it North? – of where you now lived, but it wasn't a topic she particularly enjoyed getting into, so you never really pushed the subject. You think that there's nowhere on Earth less suited to her personality, but it doesn't really matter, anyway – what mattered is that she was safe with you, now.

She managed to get some wonderful pictures of different species of butterflies, which especially pleased her – you had planned to take her to a butterfly enclosure at some point in the year, but this was the next best thing, judging by the look on her face.

The sun's getting a little higher in the sky now, and she decides that you should head back to the riverbank together to work on the picnic you've been carrying around with you. She scans the surroundings almost comically, with a flat hand perpendicular to her forehead, bent at the waist, before she exclaims, “Yep! Right there!”

You both clamber over the little fence, positive you're breaking some rule or other, but pull out the blanket from the top of the basket regardless – with her help, you manage to settle it down right next to the river. It's a lot louder than it was from the path, but it's no less soothing to listen to. She kicks her sandals off and relieves herself of the camera and satchel, sitting back against the fence.

There's a note underneath where the blanket was, written in delicate cursive:

 

_Have a lovely day._

_21O_

 

“Aw, she's always so nice to us...” she mutters, rolling her eyes gently. “We'll get her something nice from the gift store, won't we?”

You laugh and nod your head, before giving her a non-committal response. You aren't sure if there's anything 21O would actually like in the store, but you promise that you'll at least take a look. She's packed _everything_ though – there's cartons of juice wrapped in cool-packs, some sandwiches, all manner of biscuits and sweets, and even some fresh fruit in airtight containers.

“Did she make this up for a day, or a week?!” The girl next to you asks, with a giggle, reaching for one of the sandwiches. She doesn't _need_ to eat, of course, but she's taken a strong liking to it. “If she packed a tent, we could've just camped out!”

You finish up as much of the food as you can possibly stomach – of course, she could eat more, but she likes to try to eat the same as you, just out of politeness. She leans forward as you feed her some of the slices of apple 21O prepared for you, giggling and pouting when you pull them away from her mouth a few times teasingly.

With little to no shade so close to the river, she _insists_ on applying a fresh layer of sunscreen to your face, even though you could swear it was only a few hours ago that you did it yourself at home. You protest a little, weakly, but she's already smearing it all over your face, to the point where you feel like you'd blend in more in a snowstorm than the forest.

As she leans back against the fence again, satisfied with her work, she reaches over to pull out her sketchbook, along with a little bag full of pencils and chalks, some watercolour palettes, and a jar of water.

You close your eyes for a brief moment, enjoying the birdsong accompaniment to the rushing water; the breeze is as gentle as a breath on your face – or that's what you think, until you open them again, and see her face in front of yours.

“Have a nice nap?” she breathes, leaning over you, an arm either side of your body.

You look up at the sky, trying to get a read on just how long you've been out for, but she puts her fingers on your chin and pushes your face back down, so she can look you in the eye again. She grins at you, mischievously, before she leans in just a hair closer, her nose a whisper away from yours.

“You're really cute when you're sleeping, you know,” she giggles, barely audible above the river, before she bridges the gap between you and presses her lips to yours. Evidently, she's helped herself to more of the fresh fruit – you think you can taste berries, along with the apple from earlier. It's a tender kiss that seems to last almost as long as your nap might have; her soft lips move against yours slowly and rhythmically, and you can tell she's trying to savour the moment as much as you are. The sun's starting to sink down, closer toward the horizon, and the breeze is a little cooler than it was – you can't even begin to imagine a more perfect moment than this.

She sits back down next to you, with a contented smile on her face, humming while she sorts through some papers beside her. The first thing she shows you is a watercolour painting of the view from where you're sitting.

“I took some photos too, but... this way is more personal, don't you think?”

You nod in agreement – it's stylised, but you feel like she really managed to capture the overall mood of the day. This one must've been the first she worked on; everything in the scene was still bathed in the midday sun.

She places it carefully back inside her sketchbook, before pulling out a second sheet. This one is done with chalks, and it's a quick sketch of a rabbit that had apparently chosen to frolic around in front of her.

“It wouldn't stop _moving,_ ” she pouts. “Moving and jumping and hopping and moving... it was so cute though, so I had to do something real fast!”

She's almost embarrassed to show you the last one, but you coax her into it, and she sighs loudly and over-dramatically before turning her entire sketchbook around to you. It's a pencil drawing of you, while you were sleeping.

“I couldn't help it,” she says, turning a light shade of pink. “You look so cute when you're asleep, and a photo felt kind of invasive, so...”

You looked so serene in it, so relaxed, as if you didn't have a care in the world. The details she had picked out made you blush yourself; almost every last eyelash was drawn in, your hair had so much attention paid to it that it looked as if it could be shifting in the wind, even on the paper, and every crease, dip, and imperfection of your lips was plainly there to see.

“Do you like it?” she asks, tentatively.

You respond by leaning over her to kiss her again, and she laughs softly through it, as those lips she's clearly so fond of meet hers once more.

As the sun begins to set properly, you start to pack up the remnants of the picnic – “you better not litter here!” – and the blanket back into the basket. You decide to keep the little note from 21O inside, too; just a little extra for the scrapbook.

Of course she's snapping a few last minute shots of the sunset, but you can't really blame her – it's a breathtaking sight, and there isn't really enough time to pull out her sketchbook again. As she's taking the last few photos, you shift the basket behind you, and wrap your arms around her tummy in a gentle embrace. You hear a mix between a sigh and a moan escape her as you press your lips to her neck, and she even stops what she's doing for a minute to tilt her head to the side, and allow you easier access.

When she's all done, she turns to you with an even more intense blush on her face than before, snaking her arm around your back as you walk back towards the entrance. It feels like an eternity since you walked through the gates this morning, and you're almost sad to be leaving, even though you know you could come back any time.

There's one last thing to take care of, though, just as you promised – she rapidly starts bounding from shelf to shelf in the gift store, almost unable to contain her glee as she picks up item after item to see what she likes the most.

“We gotta get some postcards,” she says happily, placing a pile of them in your waiting hands. “And this... and these...”

She picks out a stuffed red squirrel from a selection of plushes for herself, as well as a set of pens and a notebook to bring back for 21O.

“And what about you?” she asks, a big grin on her face.

You tell her to surprise you, and she looks even more excited than before as she bounds off to pick something out. It doesn't take long until she returns, carrying a large, fabric-bound photo album. The cover has the logo of the nature reserve on it, together with flowers that're embroidered along the spine.

“I betcha I took enough to fill it,” she says with a wink. “I mean, I guess technically it's for both of us, but I like it when you keep my pictures...”

You pay for your items, and she waltzes languidly towards the car, looking more than a little worn out. You aren't even sure if she can really _get_ tired, but you know she rests, so it's a distinct possibility.

As you load up the day's haul into the trunk of the car, she crawls into the front seat and angles it back a little, so she can relax a bit easier. When you get into the driver's seat, you spot her looking up at you with hazy eyes, and she extends her hand to you. You take it, and not for the first time today, you wonder how it's possible her fingers are so soft, how her grip is so tender. She's an android after all, hardly designed for intimate moments, but at that moment, it feels like it's the reason she was created. You incline your head to kiss the back of her hand, and she giggles sleepily at you. You lean forward in your seat to take off your light jacket, one clumsy arm at a time, and then drape it over her. She's asleep in an instant, or whatever sleep is for her. Her mouth hangs open, though the faint traces of a smile still remain, and she breathes lightly through it. You fight the urge to kiss her again, in case she wakes, but you settle for leaning in to plant one on her forehead, softly.

“You're cute when you sleep too, 6O,” you whisper.

 


End file.
